Anthems
by Letter to Miss
Summary: When Hinata's suicide is announced, the lives of the people left behind are thrown into disarray and madness. Will any of them ever be "fixed?" Or will they slip into insanity, hopelessly dreaming of twisted wishes in their blurred reality..
1. A Blueberry Muffin

_ To whomever this may concern:  
_

_This is purely for informational purposes. You always told me that things would be better if I was gone. Well, now I am._

On Northwest 53rd street, sandwiched in-between Stewart's Books and Corner Thrift, is an underappreciated, but yet somehow still in business, café. A wind chime dangles above the doorway, clinking out its airy song over the sleepy early morning traffic. A sign in the unwashed window reads, _Subtle Hints_. Despite the hours the owners, now owner, spent dreaming up the perfect name, their hard work unfortunately didn't pay off. Business is never faster than slow, and there are a few days when nobody steps into the shop at all. Only the dedication of a few devoted regulars keeps the place afloat, but soon, even that might not be enough.

The door swings open and the chimes dance, as a teenage girl, no older than sixteen, slips inside. The barista glances up from her _Rolling Stone_ issue and closes it with a sigh. Even though any customer is appreciated, she still hates to be dragged away from her precious reading time.

The arrival hangs near the entrance, shuffling from foot to foot. She has never entered this particular café before, but that isn't saying much. She hasn't been to a restaurant of any kind in nearly six months. Her pale pink hair is mussed from a wild dash down the street to make it to her meeting on time. The girl's cheeks are flushed to match her hair, not only from the running, but also from the embarrassment at realizing that the person she is coming to see hasn't shown up yet. She could be pretty, but the dark half moons under her eyes and sickly pallor of her face prevent that.

"What'll you have?" the barista says.

"Just the house blend," the girl sighs, and begins to fish in her coat pockets for loose ones.

"That'll be all?" the woman at the counter subtly offers. (This café was not named for no reason.)

"Yes," the girl says decisively, pushing a few bills across the counter.

The pair look up as the chimes announce another customer. A tall woman, nearly forty years old, with short, obviously dyed black hair breezes inside, her trench coat flapping out behind her. She nods at the girl, who attempts to smile in return. The older woman points at a muffin in the pastry case. "I'd like an iced chai, please, and that blueberry muffin."

"Those aren't good for you," the girl says, voice barely above a whisper.

"When I see you down one of these," the onyx-haired lady retorts, "I'll know that you're finally doing something _good_ for you, Sakura."

Sakura shrinks back from her companion, and leaves her under the excuse to find them a table. She surveys the small room; it's barely large enough to fit the four tables and two worn, coffee stained burgundy armchairs nestled against the front windows. The chairs are the furthest away from the barista's prying ears, and so Sakura awkwardly perches on the edge of the cleaner of the two. She doesn't want to get too comfortable until she gets her coffee, lest she crash and sleep on the unfamiliar furniture. This teenager hasn't been sleeping well lately, and food, while it's been becoming more appealing lately, is still not her energy-rejuvenating friend like it is to most other people. The rehab and therapy has been helping, though.

The barista prepares the drinks, idly wondering why such an unlikely pair would be meeting in this under the radar café. _Maybe the older one is_ _the girl's mom, _she thinks. The thought is quickly banished from her mind. The woman's eyes are a murky, dark brown, so dark that the barista originally thought they were black. The one with the pink hair's eyes would be a stunning emerald if they weren't so dull and bloodshot from crying and lack of sleep. The world is not the kindest of places.

Balancing two drinks in one hand and a plate with the blueberry muffin atop it in the other, the adorned in black lady carefully makes her way to the armchairs. After a swift exchange, the two are sipping from their separate cardboard cups, and the muffin is happily sitting on its house on the older of the two's lap. "I know that you're nervous," she says, surprisingly gently.

"I don't get why you need me to do this, Shizune," Sakura replies, snapping the lid off of her coffee and fiddling with it in her hands. "What's it going to change?'

"You, I hope," Shizune sighs, "and maybe it'll shed some light on what happened. But you are the priority; I want you to know that."

"That doesn't answer my question. How is this going to help?"

"Sometimes to finally understand things, you have to say them out loud."

Sakura sighs and bites her lip, wincing as blood rushes up. She stops before it comes dripping from her self-inflicted injury. She has always been this way. Quitting just before the real pain sets in, though sometimes it pursues her, and she gets swept up in it anyway. That's when she slips and plummets to the bottom of the darkest of her mind's rabbit holes. She never escapes unscathed. Just ask Shizune, her therapist.

"Well," Sakura begins, uncertainty hovering around the edges of her words, "I never meant to end up like this."

"In rehab _and _therapy?"

"Yeah."

"Nobody does at the beginning. Can you tell me why you decided you need help?"

"Hinata," Sakura whispers, and suddenly tears are worming their ways out of her eyes, and she frantically wipes at them.

They are gone as suddenly as they appeared.

"Ah, yes," Shizune clears her throat, and then says softly, "her."

"Can we not say her name?" Sakura mumbles, cheeks burning with searing hot shame.

"Sure," Shizune nods. "Let's call her H, okay?"

"Okay."

"It's okay to cry, you know."

Sakura doesn't respond. The mention of _H_ has thrown her fragile mind off course, and now her thoughts are all ricocheting off of each other in frantic, arbitrary ways. Everything reminds her of the girl who is no longer here. Of revelations and stories and mistaken love and pain, oh the pain, and the pounds and the failures and the false victories and the way her world has been steadily falling to pieces. But she will not cry anymore.

"Do you want to start again?" Shizune suggests, taking a sip from her chai.

"Sure," Sakura lies. She would rather be back in the hospital being force-fed through tubes than here, relaying her story to her inexperienced therapist. "Well, it started a while ago. Last summer, really. It was a party. A really big one."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No, not really," Sakura says sheepishly. "I don't really want to talk about this."

"Yes, you do," Shizune presses.

Sakura is beginning to wonder if she's being interrogated. "Fine."

She is anything but. It's been too long. She can't remember the last time she smiled. Being content with life is one thing that Sakura has never had, but she used to be, figuratively speaking, happy. She had friends. Hopes. Dreams. "The music was blaring. I could hear it down the street as I approached Ino's house, she was the one throwing the party, and I don't think she meant for it to get so huge. She invited about ten people, but then they started inviting their friends, and the numbers got out of control. There was shrieking and laughing, and I was looking forward to when I'd step through that door, because I knew that somebody special was going to be there. Sasuke.

I'd dressed up just for him. Heels, short skirt, tight top. I didn't know what he liked, except for long hair, so I just wore clothes like Ino usually wore out to dance in. You know, effortlessly slutty. I wish I hadn't now."

"Why?"

"Because he did like it. _Very much_."

"He raped you?" Shizune's eyes widen, and her jaw drops. "Nobody ever mentioned this to me! Oh, my God! Why-why didn't you tell anyone, Sakura? Jesus Christ-!"

"He didn't!" Sakura shouts, making the barista jump. She rolls her eyes, and returns to her new magazine.

"Oh," Shizune says sheepishly, embarrassed by her too soon assumption, "oh."

"Yes. He did _not_ do that to me. I'm not saying that he's still a good person, though I didn't know he wasn't a fairytale prince come true at the time. I thought he was troubled. I didn't know how much of his time he spent completely wasted, or his complete disregard of most other people. He didn't care about anyone. They weren't his parents. They died when he was young, and he never really moved on. I think that's why he started the drinking, the drugs. But he was so dark, mysterious, and unbelievably hot. Dark, smoldering eyes. Spiked, black hair. He was like the pictures old spinsters masturbate to. Absolutely gorgeous.

I stood in the kitchen and flirted casually with Naruto and Kiba. My eyes were riveted to Sasuke; he was just out of reach, standing a few feet away from the doorway. He kept sipping at his beer, and he was constantly looking my way and turning whenever he thought I would catch him. He didn't know that I was catching him every time.

It was enough to make me giddy. I giggled at everything Naruto and Kiba said; even a steel safe couldn't contain my happiness. The only thing I wanted was for Sasuke to come over and strike up a conversation. I wished on my father's soul, may he rest in peace. I can't believe that I did that, looking back. I pinned my hopes on my dead father. Dreams for a druggie. Unfortunately, my dad listened."

"And you got knocked up, didn't you?" Shizune says pointedly, slurping up the rest of her chai as Sakura flushes scarlet.

"J-just a little bit…" she sputters, gripping onto her cup of cooling coffee.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The therapist's brief moment of docility and gentleness has fled the scene. Her usual self has returned, dragging along with it her unnerving frankness and biting sarcasm. Shizune finds herself in contradictions. Next to her bed, she has stacks of books of paradoxes and psychology theories. The latter is growing exponentially; after an unwanted phone call from an exasperated employer, Shizune has been ordering more and more books in an attempt to at least be good enough to work for her small-scale company. She specializes in dealing with girls with eating disorders, at least, that's what her Facebook page says. In reality, however, her clients end up attending one session, and they generally don't schedule more. Sakura is Shizune's first true patient, but now that Shizune finally had somebody she is supposed to help, she isn't quite sure how to do it. "Well?" Shizune presses. "If it was only a little, what's that? Is that just one of your new words for _doing the nasty_, or was it like a blowjob or something?"

Shizune's other patients had always begun to feel uncomfortable just a few minutes into their meeting. Sakura is no exception. "I guess," Sakura snaps, "to put in your old people terms, you'd call it _sexual intercourse._"

"That's much clearer," Shizune smiles broadly. "Thank you for the clarification."

"You're welcome," Sakura says through her clenched teeth.

She wishes again that she hadn't shown up to confer with this exasperating woman. There isn't much to stop her from dumping her cold coffee onto Shizune's too composed coat and white turtleneck, smirking with satisfaction as the therapist's jaw slides off her face, and turning on her heel and confidently walking out, tipping the barista as she leaves. A perfect storm out. The only roadblock, though, is the girl slowly decomposing a few feet under a mourner's feet as the world continues on its maddeningly uncertain course.

"Shall we continue?" Shizune offers.

Sakura considers remaining in her stony silence, but thinks better of it. She will abide by the dead's wishes, no matter if she is the one who is not wasting away in a coffin. "Yes," she sighs. "Probably. Continuing, yes, we had sex, but I want to tell you everything in the order that it went, not in order of importance. Sasuke approached me, and suddenly my whole attention span was totally focused on him. It didn't take long for Naruto and Kiba to realize this, and soon Naruto was hitting up the food, and Kiba was rummaging around in Hinata's shirt. They lasted the night, maybe not even that. But anyway, we talked, if you could call me attempting to translate his slurred speech and replying to whatever I thought he said, talking. I didn't think that it was ridiculous, the way he had to lean onto my shoulder to keep himself from keeling over. I thought it was cute. It made me feel strong, you know? Like I was able to support me and someone else at the same time. Finally, he grabbed my hand and whispered in my ear, 'Let's go somewhere else.' I would've followed him anywhere, and I did. Out behind the house, through a few backyards, and finally to the play set that Hinata's little sister-I think her name was Hanabi-used to play on. There was the usual foreplay, a few awkward kisses, until he started to take things further. It was clumsy. Nothing like I'd imagined being so _intimate _with Sasuke would have been. The only thing saving the experience from being terminated was the fact that I was with him.

We, well, more of me trying to salvage the mangled remains of the situation, kept at it for a few more minutes. I was drenched in sweat, and so was he. It was a warm night, but it was sweltering for us. Soon, he drifted off to sleep, and it was so much like his previous actions that it took me a while to realize that he was sleeping, and I had just spent the past few minutes simply working on sexual techniques on-let's face it-a dummy. I stopped abruptly. Reality was starting to seep into the cracks my deluded world had failed to seal.

I pressed my face into his bare chest and took a long, shuddering sigh. I tried to pretend that he was wrapping his arms around me, that the heat on my back wasn't just our sweat settling onto my skin. I wanted to go to sleep. I wanted to so badly that I screwed my eyes shut and tried to think of every single thing that has always let me drop down to sleep. Like physics, fireplaces, pornos-don't look at me like that, I know that I'm a freak-easy listening music, and the sound of waves lapping up against a shoreline. None of that was working. I couldn't stop thinking about how big of a mistake I'd just made.

Sasuke moaned and slowly opened his eyes. For a seemingly never-ending moment, we stared at each other. I couldn't help but watch in horror as the shock registered on his face. At that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to be at home in my bed, far away from Sasuke. I'd never wished that before, but suddenly, it was the only thing in the world that I'd like. I hope you know that I'm incredibly indecisive by now. It's a challenge for me to stick with wanting one thing for more than an hour at a time. _This_," Sakura gestures at her self,"and Sasuke are quite possibly the only things that I've ever held onto longer than a day."

"You sound like my old friend, Tsunade," Shizune muses; sometimes she gets sucked into the tales disclosed to her and finds herself consumed by the memories they unearth.

"Why?" Sakura asks. The sick, nauseating nervousness is coming back to her as her steady stream of uncomfortable remembrance is brought to a pause.

"She used to change her mind every few minutes. One moment, she'd be sliding on her stilettos for a night out on town, the next, throwing them in the closet and nestling into the couch cushions for chic flick and ice cream sob fest."

"Why do you talk about her in past tense?"

"This session is about _you_, not me," Shizune shifts in her seat, recrossing her legs and sending a furtive glance out the window.

"Sorry, ma'am." Over the years, Sakura has learned not to stick her nose in places where she is not wanted.

In fifth grade, Sakura had had a best friend. The girl's name was, _is_, Ino. The two were inseparable for the five months that they spent confiding in each other. It was one of those midsummer days that no one quite knows the number of, because everyone had stopped paying attention to the date by halfway through June. Sakura and Ino were walking to Ino's house; it was a sweltering day, and the pair had no money to purchase lemonade from the dozens of stands stationed on what seemed like every corner. When they arrived at their destination, Sakura noticed something odd. Two cars were parked in the driveway. At many homes, it's not unusual to see more than one vehicle; in fact, oftentimes families have three. At Ino's house, however, her parents only had one car. Her father would drop her mother off at work every morning, and pick her up precisely at five every evening. If Ino wanted to go somewhere, she had no choice but to walk. Ino and Sakura stood in a wondering silence for a long moment as they both pondered the mystery of the blue pick-up. Ino told Sakura to wait for her while she went inside to figure out what was going on. The blonde vanished inside the screen door, and Sakura surrendered herself to waiting. Waiting for one minute. Two. Three. Worry, creeping into her mind like a stealthy thief in the night, began to whisper at the edges of Sakura's thoughts. Another couple of minutes passed. Panic was successfully shoving worry out of the spotlight. What if Ino had been hurt? What if her mother was dead? What if the car was driven by a robber and he had the whole family tied up and at gunpoint? The imagery of what could happen to her first best friend was too much for Sakura to handle. She raced up the front stairs and frantically pushed open the door, all of the adrenaline in her little body pulsing through her. She quickly surveyed the room. Confusion surged through her, and the worry and panic and nausea built up over the waiting period was replaced in an instant. What was Ino's mom doing with the man on the couch? Why hadn't they folded their clothes before tossing them onto the floor? Wait, why weren't they wearing clothes? More questions attacked Sakura's conscience as Ino turned to face her. Ino's were cold, guarded, and her mouth was set in a firm, grim line. Sakura began to open her mouth to inquire as to what was going on. "Go," Ino whispered. "Just go and forget, okay?"

They haven't spoken since.

Well, not until this year.

"Don't apologize for being curious. It's human nature," Shizune sighs.

"Sorry…"

"Stop it!"

"Jesus, okay!"

Shizune stares into her empty plate. Maybe if she looks at it long enough, the only thing left in the world will be that single, porcelain dish. No more angry bosses, ex husbands, uncooperative patients, or dead friends. Well, at least Sakura and she have one thing in common. But a story is not best left at a hanging standstill, so Shizune opens her mouth once more. "Continue."

Sakura remains buried in her hole of stony silence.

"Please."

More minutes pass. A bead of sweat unwillingly slides down Shizune's pale cheek. She wonders why she chose to be a therapist. She could've had a _respectable_ job-like a doctor or a member of the Peace Corps. But _nooooooo_, she just had to have an inexplicable urge to help people overcome their mental obstacles. How could she have ever been so stupid?

"So he'd woken up, right?" Sakura says softly, running a hand through her stringy, slightly greasy pink hair.

"Yes." Shizune shoots a quick prayer to her God. _Please let her keep going so I can keep my job. Please, please, please. _

Her prayers morph into a song from her days of teenage angst. "Won't you please, please, please, let me, let me get what I want, this time."

"Well, it took a few more minutes for Sasuke to really realize where he was. As soon as he opened his mouth, I took the cue to get the hell off of him. His bloodshot, black eyes were glued on me as I rushed to pull on my clothes. With them trained on me, I couldn't think straight. I don't think I even remembered to put on my bra; it's probably still under the bushes there. 'Shit, man,' he drawled, still groggy but not totally out of it. 'You. Are. So. Fucking. Heavy.'

I was speechless. I thought that maybe in some sick way, at least _he _had enjoyed it. But no. No. He'd just spent an hour getting crushed by my fat _ass_," Sakura falls silent at this. Her coffee cup full of empty caffeine calories is glaring up at her scornfully. She wonders why she ever wasted her money on something that will inevitably make her hips wider and her arms flabbier. What has she been thinking, actually _eating_? There is no way she will put off any more weight doing ridiculous things like that.

Shizune raises her eyebrows. When she was a teenager, around Sakura's age, actually, she tried not eating. By the end of one day, she was so ravenous that she scarfed down a whole carton of ice cream. After that day, anorexia never occurred to her in her ventures to lose weight through her teen years. To some others, namely her patients, however, it seemed to be the only option.

"For the next few days, I barely spoke. My friends buzzed around me. Their questions filled up the empty air that I hadn't bothered to put my own thoughts into. I didn't answer to any of them. Why should I have let them know what had happened? It was nothing beautiful, like what everyone says sex should be. To me, it seemed like I'd been cheated, like everything I'd been dreaming about was all a lie to initiate me into reality. I was betrayed by my own thoughts. The voices surrounding me gradually faded away over the weeks, along with my desire to eat. Soon, all that was left was me and two other people. Sasuke was always on my mind. I wanted another chance with him, and the next time, I wouldn't be too heavy. He would pay as much attention to me as I'd given up to him. The other person was Naruto.

I suppose that I should fill you in on the history between us; it'd only be fair to him to do the same as I did for Sasuke. We met in first grade before either of us really knew anything of the world. Naruto was the kid in the back of the class with the notebook full of fresh ideas for pranks. You know the type, I'm sure. He liked me all through elementary and middle school, though I never took him seriously until the summer after eighth grade. He was the class clown, and I thought we were strictly friends. I didn't feel like there was any truth to his words until he took me aside while we were walking home from the pool one day and kissed me. It was my first kiss, and it caught me so off guard that I just went along with it. Naruto was the one who broke it off, surprisingly. When I pulled back and looked him square in the face, I felt my now all too familiar sinking feeling. He didn't have to open his mouth to ask me if I felt anything. I didn't have to say anything to give him my answer. Naruto turned away with a sigh, and that's when I started sobbing. I poured everything out to him. I couldn't leave him hanging, and to be honest, I _wanted_ him to know about why I couldn't like him back. Sasuke, my friends, family, all about _me _and all I'd ever thought of _him_ tumbled out of my mouth. Naruto didn't walk away, like most guys I know would. They wouldn't bother to listen to what I had to say if I turned them down. But Naruto was, _is _different. I'm just so sorry that it's my fault that he's in the situation that he is in now. That's a different story, though, and I'm afraid that I'm not going to delve in there right now. I don't want you to be one of the only attendees at my pity party.

He listened to me, though. I loved every minute of it. He never interrupted, and it seemed like he was hanging onto each word that I said. Even now, I still don't know why I still strove for Sasuke instead of leaving my childish dreams behind and embracing Naruto. We have remained close friends, even though he doesn't let me forget that he still has feelings for me.

So to return to more recent events, after most of my friends had lost interest in me, Naruto was the only one who remained. Every day, we'd walk home together after school. We talked, but I always skirted around the important things. He'd try to bring them up with questions on what had happened at the party that made me stop speaking to most people. Questions on why my clothes seemed to be much looser. Naruto'd crack a few jokes-'You're too white to be a gangster, Sakura.'-and I'd try to smile. He didn't understand why I wouldn't tell him what was wrong. It was too embarrassing; I couldn't stand the thought of him knowing why I had to lose the weight. A few weeks passed. Our relationship grew uneasy. Naruto started to interrogate me and barrage me with his thoughts. 'What you're doing,' he poked my ribs, 'is a load of total bullshit. I don't know what happened between you and Sasuke to make you do this to yourself, but it's not worth it. You can't keep losing weight, Sakura."

'Why?' I asked, startled. Naruto had never directly acknowledged the pounds falling off my body before."

'You're going to die.'

I was completely speechless, and then infuriated. He had no right to tell me what to do with my body! My weight was _my _business. I shook my head; I didn't know what to say. 'Sakura!' Naruto shouted, and he gripped my shoulders tightly. I was surprised at how strong he was and also at how much it hurt. By now, I was trembling all over. I remember thinking that he was going to murder me, but I wasn't thinking straight.

'Just tell me!' he started to shake me. 'Why are you doing this to yourself? What in God's name did Sasuke do to you!'

I gave him no answer. I can be quite stubborn when I want to be.

'Fuck, Sakura!' Naruto spat as he released me. I rubbed my aching shoulders,

and looked at him long and hard for a few moments. As he started to say something more, I whipped around and fled. I sprinted down the empty street and stumbled into my house, collapsing on the couch in the living room. I didn't get up until the next morning when I had to get ready for school."

"How did Naruto's anger make you feel?" Shizune inquires, making a half-hearted attempt to act like she believes a therapist should act.

"I was scared, mostly. I didn't want to have to really consider what he was trying to get through to me. If I accepted what he said, I would have to admit to myself that I could die from what I was doing, though I think that I knew it in the back of my mind, but it was still too far in the closet to let its presence be known to me."

"That's understandable," Shizune comments, because she has nothing better to say.

No wonder she's such a cheap therapist.

Sakura restrains herself from grumbling the sentence above. At the moment, she wants a better person to talk to, one that would offer her clear advice and feedback that would give her _some_ sort of direction in life. Hinata would've disapproved; Sakura is sure of that. But then again, why didn't Hinata get her own goddamn therapist? In Sakura's opinion, Hinata had needed one much more than she did. Sakura could've died from her actions, but Hinata _did_. Maybe Hinata had no problem with putting food in her mouth. She had to have had a problem with living, though. Otherwise, Sakura knows that Hinata never would've swallowed that bottle of pills.

Why had Hinata been such a hypocrite? She looked Sakura in the eye and told her that she needed help-that the emerald eyed girl didn't deserve to die. Had Hinata thought that she deserved death? Sakura wonders. Sure, there were a few rumors swirling around the school about her. They were mostly about something from over the summer-Neji said she'd made out with a girl on the notorious play set in her backyard. Sakura dismissed the gossip; she knew that Hinata couldn't keep her eyes off of Naruto. Now she wishes that she'd spoken up about the girl's crush. Maybe it would've embarrassed-no, it _would've_ embarrassed her-but at least it would've stopped the harsh words and abuse she was suffering at school.

"Should I say something more?" Shizune snaps, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair.

"You don't have to," Sakura sighs, drowning her dislike of the woman in her accustomed politeness. "I should probably just keep going, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, you should."

"That next day, I went to school as I would every other day. There was nothing amiss in my classes. I ate the 50 calories for lunch as I did every day. Something was off, though. I couldn't stop peering over my shoulder; everything looked ominous to me. The food on everyone else's trays screamed that something was going to happen. Ino's gaze seemed to be guarded as she stared at me across the lunchroom. Everyone seemed to be hiding something. All of the actions were the same as they always were, however. I couldn't stop thinking, '_What are they hiding from me? What will they do?_' I suspected it had something to do with Sasuke. It wasn't much of a secret how I'd felt about him. The conspiracy theories swirled through my head. I had a nagging feeling that he'd remembered that night, now a month past, and had suddenly let it slip to the whole school. I didn't want to be called a slut."

Shizune's shock is plainly displayed on her pale features. "Why the _hell _does sleeping with a single guy make you a slut?" she demands, blood rushing into her face.

"I'm a girl," Sakura shrugs. "Unless everybody loves you, you're going to get called a whore."

"I don't believe it!" Shizune huffs. "That never used to happen when I was a kid, I swear."

"You're not a kid now," Sakura says pointedly.

Shizune sighs, and she wishes that a window cleaner would stride purposefully across the street with a bucket full of water and a long mop at his side and wipe away the dust that has been lingering on these windows for many years. Windows have always been a form of escapism for her. Jane Austen was for other, more feminine girls. Shizune has always preferred to gaze upon the sights in the great outdoors from a safe outreach. She revels in her nonconformity, to the point that to some people, it is nauseating. It was one of the main reasons that her marriage ended so badly.

"I know," Shizune finally says, "but you _are _just a kid. I'm not trying to sound rude here, but you need to live your life the best you can now, before you'll start really having consequences."

"We have consequences now, ma'am."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I know people who already are going to have to live with what they've done now for the rest of their lives."

"Sakura, that's their lives. It's not yours."

Sakura follows in Shizune's footsteps as she breathes an airy sigh. She can't help but see her former friends and hope that she doesn't have to go through the things that they have been through. She knows that this is hypocritical, though. She has already done many things with consequences. If her ribs could speak, they would tell you this as well.

"Where was I?" Sakura hurriedly changes the subject. She doesn't know what to say to the only good advice Shizune has given her in their conversation. "Right. I remember now. I was on my guard all day. Every hushed tone seemed to be whispering harsh words about me. When eighth period came around, I leapt out of my seat, relieved to finally be able to escape the paranoia whirling through me. I slipped through the throngs of students in my eagerness to leave the day behind me. When I got to the entrance, well, now exit, however, I found myself stuck behind a huge crowd of people. Students were darting quick, short statements to each other as they craned their necks to see over the taller person in front of them. I wormed my way around the edge until I found a small break between people that I could squeeze myself into. I worked through the crowd this way for a minute or two when I heard Naruto shout over the din, 'You fucking asshole!' Everyone grew silent, and I started trying to shove my way to a view ten times harder.

Finally, I emerged in the front. The time it took to get there felt like forever, but I'm sure now that it was really only a minute or so. Sasuke was leaning against the railing, a cigarette dangling from his fingers; Naruto stood in front of him, fists curled, frame square and trembling with anger. Sasuke's glazed gaze drifted across the gathered students as he flicked his cigarette at Naruto. Ash splattered on Naruto's shirt. 'You think you can get away with hurting people just because you think can't hurt them as much as you've been hurt!' Naruto snarled. I can't say that I didn't see it coming when he snatched Sasuke's shirt collar and yanked him off of his position on the railing, drawing Sasuke's face close to his own.

'You have no idea what I've been going through!' Sasuke spat. 'Like you've had anyone ripped away from you right in front of you!'

'I don't care that your fucking family's dead!' Naruto shouted. 'I don't even care that you waste all of your time getting stoned instead of trying to get over how much your life sucks! I care about the fact that you're dragging Sakura down with you. Have you even bothered to look at her lately? Can you see how all of her bones are sticking out? How her eyes are sunken into her head? How her head seems too big for her body? It's your fault, Uchiha! It's all your fucking fault!'

Everyone craned his or her heads to get a look at me.

'Why should I care if a girl that's been mooning over me for longer than I can remember is starving herself for me? It's her decision not to eat. Don't drag me into your love problems, Naruto. I don't give a shit.'

That's when the punches started flying. Time seemed to slow down for me; every strike was brilliantly clear. Naruto dropped Sasuke's collar and sent a fist straight into his cheek. Somehow, Sasuke still had his cigarette in his hand, and he drove it into Naruto's exposed arm. Naruto howled as his skin burned; his cry was like a dying animal's, and shivers traveled up my spine. I didn't move, though. I can't tell you why, because I honestly don't know. I just stood there, watching the two most important guys in my life pummel each other over me. A voice inside me was screaming, 'Stop them!' I couldn't bring myself to listen to it. I was too scared. What if I said the wrong thing? What if they didn't see me throwing myself into the fray, and I got hurt? I didn't want to take the risk at that point."

Sasuke managed to get a few more burns in until the cigarette finally flew out of his hand. He threw a few punches to Naruto's head, each one solidly connecting with his skull. Naruto's hits were many and all over, sometimes even missing. Sasuke's were quick and well aimed. Huge bruises were already blossoming over Naruto's cheeks, and his bright blue eyes were swelling up. Despite all of his injuries, he shoved Sasuke to the ground and drove a swift kick into his ribs. The crowd, minus me, was screaming two completely different things. One half was cheering them on, lusting for more bloodshed. The others were calling for the teachers to save Naruto and Sasuke from each other. Naruto's kicks started getting harder and more frenzied. He didn't care where he was aiming anymore. Anywhere was good. Blood splattered from Naruto's nose and onto Sasuke's once clean, grey t-shirt. There was no beauty in either boy right now. No matter how hard I screwed my eyes shut and tried to imagine the guys that I cared about so much, I couldn't see them. The handsome, mysterious Sasuke I thought I loved was gone. Some asshole I'd never seen before had whisked away my distorted illusion of him. The only thing left was cold, harsh reality. I felt like I'd just been thrown into a strange, new world, where I had no place and no direction. The only thing I knew was that I had to stop Naruto."

I broke from the confines of the crowd, and I made a beeline straight for Naruto. 'Stop!' I screamed, in a tone more high-pitched than I'd ever made before. Fear does strange things to people, particularly me. Naruto glanced up. His eyes were wild, and his mouth was set in a firm, grim line. 'What are you doing, Sakura?' he screeched back at me. 'I'm trying to help _you_, and what do you do? You fucking turn on me! All I'm trying to do is make things right! That's _it_!' He jabbed his foot into Sasuke's side. Sasuke grunted, and began to choke on something. Moments later, he began to cough up blood, shuddering violently and clutching his stomach.

'You're not helping anything!' I pleaded with him, crossing over and grabbing Naruto's hand, shaking it as I begged. 'Just stop! It's not worth it! Not at all!'"

"Someone shoved me roughly out of the way, and I stumbled and pitched into the railing. All of the breath was knocked out of me. Mr. Hatake slammed into Naruto, throwing him to the ground beside Sasuke. The nurse sprinted to Sasuke's side as staff swarmed Naruto. Where had they been the whole time? Nobody knew for sure."

"As soon as Naruto went down, things went very quickly. So quickly that I could hardly tell what was going on. People whirred past me, their faces blurring together and bodies all morphing into one singular unclear form. I couldn't distinguish the words being screamed. They all sounded the same to me. My head spun. I'd only eaten a few grapes that day, and I was really starting to feel it. I wanted to curl up right there on the ground and sleep away the day. The fear, though. Oh, the fear. It was consuming me, pulsing questions through me at a relentless beat. What were they going to do with Naruto? My imagination conjured multiple images, and none of them were anything even remotely pleasant. God…" Sakura trails off, leaning over and cradling her head in her hands.

"It's not your fault," Shizune says awkwardly.

Sakura doesn't reply. She is finding that as her story begins to dwindle to a close, her replies to Shizune's attempts to console her are also diminishing. Shizune's efforts are almost laughable to her now, in all of their ineptness. Sakura will not give up her trying, though. If not for herself, then for Naruto. For Hinata.

"I didn't move throughout all of the chaos. For ten minutes, the world just passed me by. I was surprisingly apathetic to the commotion around me. My thoughts were trained on Naruto and what was going to happen to him. I didn't care so much about Sasuke anymore. He was suddenly gone-a figment of the past. I felt incredibly stupid. At that moment, I couldn't grasp exactly why I'd clung onto the idea of Sasuke for so long. I'm still not sure how I could've been so blind.

A voice snapped me out of my whirlwind of mixed emotions. At first, I couldn't make out what it was saying. The tone was too soft, the words too stammered and choked out. 'What?' I grunted, glancing up. It was only Hinata-she didn't mean half as much to me then as she does now. It was only after, after _it_, that I remembered everything we said.

'Are you okay?' she asked, stepping over to lean over the railing next to me.

'I don't know,' I replied; I was too exhausted to lie.

'I-I wish I'd done something, too," Hinata admitted as she gazed out over the grounds. '

'About what?' I let out a harsh laugh.

'Sasuke and Naruto,' she said, never once looking towards me. 'Not my…m-my flab.'

I said nothing. I didn't know what to say. I only knew Hinata from a distance. She was a little on the chubby side, but now I'm not so sure. My views on weight were pretty off then. I knew that her cousin, Neji, treated her like she was an animal in a slaughterhouse-she never knew when he'd hit her with another attack. And she was in love with Naruto, at least, she loved him in the way that you do when you watch someone from afar every day, memorizing their patterns, motions, language, everything. Stalkerish, yes. Hopeless, undoubtedly. Destructive? Without a doubt. 'Sakura,' Hinata whispered, her stuttering fading as her voice grew quieter. 'I want you to do something for me.'

This struck me as very strange. From what I knew of her, she never asked for anything. 'What is it?' I asked, turning my head to face her.

'You need help.'

For the first time, I noticed how her long, blue-black hair fluttered in the wind. She'd stopped having it cut over the summer. Funny, how people stop caring as their hope dwindles. I don't think she meant it to, but her hair looked beautiful. I still wonder why she hadn't grown it out before. Maybe the boyish hair cut she used to wear felt safer to her.

'Sakura, I'm begging you.' Raw desperation tugged at the edge of her voice. 'If not for me, then for you. You need to do it before it's too late. You can still save yourself.'

Do you know what I did then, Miss?"

"What did you do, Sakura?" Shizune is on the edge of her seat, hands trembling.

"I walked away from her. Just left her by that railing and left without looking back. I went home and buried myself in my bed, and I tried to block out my thoughts by blasting music. One kept persistently nagging me, though, and no matter what I did, I couldn't tune it out. I didn't understand why Hinata had wanted to help me so badly. Then, I thought that maybe she'd just been trying to score brownie points with Jesus or something. But now, I'm sure that it was because she didn't want somebody else to throw their life away. She knew what she was doing. She knew that she could've kept on living; she had to! I don't understand why she felt the need to do it. I haven't since I got the call later that night. The day after, I didn't go to school. I dialed the hospital as soon as I woke up, and I turned myself in. This was two months ago. Last week, my rehab group leader suggested that I get a therapist, so I'd have a professional opinion. And here I am."

The pair sit in silence. Sakura can barely keep her eyes open; if she could, she'd curl up and fall asleep on the armchair. She takes a swig of her cold coffee, pursing her lips at the awful taste. She puts it back on the window sill, and as she does this, she notices the corner of a scrap of paper protruding from between the chair and the window. Sakura stares at it quizzically, mulling over whether or not she should pull it from its hiding place. The upsides outweigh the downsides-her rehab group calls this decision making process "weighing the scale"-so she gently works it out of the groove. Shizune raises her eyebrows, but she says nothing on it. She is still trying to take in Sakura's story. These things, like many others, take time.

The slip of paper now rests between Sakura's fingers. She carefully unfolds it, wary of tearing what could be an important message. Hinata has made her pay much more attention to the words people say.

Her eyes scan the sentences scrawled on the page.

"_Are you reading this? I ask questions about everything, but I don't get answers. I loved a girl, but she never answered me. She was everything to me, but I wasn't anything to her. Why was that? Maybe I couldn't see past her bright, green eyes. Could you? I still think about her, even as I hunt for a place to spend the night. I think about how she hurt me, and I hope that she's still alive-hasn't followed H. I wonder, does she think about me?"_

Sakura rereads the note a few more times. Her pink lips form small, sad smile as she gently refolds this valuable collection of letters and punctuation. Shizune sits up as Sakura rises from her seat. There is no use. The door swings shut; the bell dings even though an exit has been made, not an entrance.

Sakura glances back over her shoulder as she embarks through the twilight. For her, there will be no sleep tonight. She is expected.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **I have been working on and off on this since last April, and sadly, due to my procrastination, am still not done. I hope to finish the third chapter after Nanowrimo, but don't expect much until December. :\ Thank you for reading! (:


	2. Frames Minus Pictures

_I know that anyone else would've said that there were other options. A year ago, I would've said the same myself. My life changed, though,, and I couldn't help but change with it._

The night has never been Naruto's friend. The darkness swallows him up, draping an invisibility cloak over his body and leaving him alone with his worst enemy: his mind. A shudder travels through Naruto as he sits on the cold, piercing concrete of the curb. He wraps his arms around him, desperately trying to keep his threadbare jacket closed. The zipper broke last week.

He sits on this curb often. He does not sit here because it is comfortable. He does not sit here because it is easier than sitting somewhere else. In fact, there are many places he would rather be. Back in his own home, for instance. At this hour, Naruto would have been drifting off to sleep to the soundtrack of Jiraiya's keyboard clicking as the pervy old man typed up a few more pages on his newest Icha Icha Paradise novel. He'd think about the girl with the milk-white skin and sunken emerald eyes. She is so far away from him now. Sometimes Naruto wonders if she ever really existed. It has been a month since their last meeting; it feels like a lifetime ago.

The house across the street is empty. All three locks are sealed shut, all sixteen windows with all sixteen curtains drawn. Inside, most of the rooms are empty. There is one room, however, that is not. It overlooks the street, reveling in the nightly scenes of passing cars and passing people. It is the only room still furnished. Nothing has changed, in that lonely bedroom, except for the photographs. Each frame is bare; there are no indications left behind that maybe, just maybe, this had been the room of a girl once breathing. No marks to imply that she had stolen her father's pills and purposely overdosed in this place. She is gone, but the memories of her will last forever.

Naruto stares up at the barren house, wondering once again why Hinata did it. She had gotten good grades, come from a rich family, and he didn't know of anyone that hated her. But Naruto not knowing anyone didn't count, really. He hadn't been close with many of his fellow students. He recognized faces and could attach a name to them, but when it came to actually knowing the people, he could rarely elaborate. This is the result of having only focused on one friendship. It was the only thing he truly believed in. It was the only thing that now he believed was truly a lie.

He pounds his fist on the pavement. Pain shoots up his arm. He is weaker than he used to be. Why had she stopped him? He'd done it for her, _all _for her. And what had she done? When she pushed him away, he couldn't help but feel like the universe had just taken a massive shiton his face. When the teachers started swarming _him_, he couldn't help but start to cry from the sheer absurdity of it all. He tried to save Sakura from Sasuke and herself-but mostly herself-and where had it gotten him? Kicked out of school and tossed out on the street. So much for goodwill and "help thy neighbor." And why was Sasuke just suspended? Naruto still has scars from each cigarette burn that Sasuke planted on him. Naruto shakes his head, and gazes back at the window. Well, he thinks, I must've had it easier than Hinata. He hadn't offed himself.

A sharp cold wind sweeps through the street, chilling Naruto to his bones. He wraps his jacket tighter, and slowly rises from his seat. He wishes that it wasn't November. He is a summer person. The warm breaths of air tickling his cheeks, the bright sun sparkling on the dyed blue pool water, all the weeks of staying up all night. He does not belong in this icy, unwelcome world.

Naruto huffs a breath into his numb hands and rubs them together. Heat seeps into his body, and he manages a small smile. Maybe it is time to leave.

He eases himself up and off of the curb, stretching his tight muscles, and then shoving his hands into his pockets, heads back the way he came. There is a place he might be able to stay tonight. The owner has been kind to him in the past, and Naruto knows that he has an empty bed to spare.

Naruto ducks his head under the wind. His dirty, blonde hair is longer than it has ever been, and he regrets this as it whips around his face. He can hardly see now, with the inky darkness of the night and his hair dangling in his eyes. That doesn't matter much, though. Naruto spends a lot of his time loitering the back of many restaurants, unwilling to resign to sitting out in the cold, alone, again. This café is special, though. He has never been asked to leave. Naruto knows that it's only because he is one of the few people to enter the lonely place, but he appreciates the kindness anyway.

The streetlights illuminate Northwest 53rd street, casting a soft glow on the deserted scene. Most of the world is asleep. Naruto averts his eyes from the slumbering Starbucks on the corner. They never hesitate to show him the door when his time in their hospitality is up. Naruto hates that feeling, the one where you know that you are unwanted. He always gets a pang in his chest when another teenager with a pizza face guides him to the door and slams it shut with a bang behind him. He can't help but think of Sakura-her sunken green eyes, her baggy sweatshirts and chipped red nail polish. She was the compass to his Titanic. No matter which way she pointed, he always sank.

He gives Subtle Hint's door three soft knocks. One to announce that there is a customer after hours, two to alert the owner, and three to say that it's him. A few moments pass, and then another few, until the door creaks open. The middle-aged man's bushy eyebrows raise in mock surprise, and he gifts Naruto with a nod of approval. Here is a place where he is welcome.

The owner shuffles out of the doorway. His toes are poking out of holes in his socks; when did he buy them? Was it '95? '96? The years are slipping through the sieve of his mind, no matter how desperately he tries to hold onto them. Days fade into months, months into years, years into decades, decades into Emma. Emma! He crosses the room slowly to the armchair he'd been rooted in until Naruto had yanked him out. The bottle. He pulls the chair away from the wall with a grunt. He's not as young as he used to be. He fishes in the only clean place in the café, and draws out his half empty bottle of wine. It doesn't matter that it's not cold. He takes a swig. The alcohol helps him remember. He has never been a conventional person.

Naruto turns away; this is not his moment to witness. Instead, he grabs a napkin from the dispenser. The pen in his pocket still has ink, and so he writes. This is something he does in every restaurant he visits.

His mind is flowing freely now that it has warmed up to a heated environment. They are not concrete thoughts-quite the contrary, really. His hand is poised to trace the letters of his emotions. The tip of the pen is touching the napkin. "A couple of women came today," the owner says between gulps. "One of them sounded like the one you wrote about the first time you came here. Like Emma."

"She did?" Naruto is unaware of the pen slipping out of his hand.

"Yeah, Jamie told me about it. She said that the girl was really skinny, and she seemed to spend a lot of time arguing with the woman she was with. Emma loved to argue-strongly debate-with anyone. She wore a lot of black, too, like the older one. Said it was slimming."

"What the fuck?" Naruto shouts, the strength in his voice being conjured out of pure air and spontaneity. This is his place! His little refuge from the cold and the reality! She couldn't just waltz in there and come back into his life as easily as she'd exited it!

The owner sets the wine back behind the chair. He has seen this before, in himself. He shuffles over to Naruto and claps him on the shoulder. Sometimes words are unnecessary.

Naruto's hands are trembling. He manages to pick up the pen, however, and in an uncertain scrawl, begins to write.

_ I don't want you coming here. I don't want you reading my messages. None of them are as true as this one. They are all me in the past, trying to figure out why you did what you did. I know why you did it now. It wasn't for me. I always knew that. _

_ But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you don't even know why you destroyed my life as I knew it. I don't expect you to apologize to me. You can make up for your mistakes, though._

_ Don't talk to me again._

_ I mean it._

Naruto looks over his work. He is strangely emotionless about it. He wonders briefly if he should care more about cutting her off completely. No, he decides, he shouldn't. She never had returned the favor.

There is a frantic knocking on the door. Naruto stuffs the napkin in his pocket. "I'll get it," he says.

He turns the knob, and slowly opens the door. The whole world is moving in slow motion for him in this new state of numbness. "Hey," he says.

"Hi," she breathes.

She peers around him, looking for a way to get around him and into the warmth of the café. She is shivering. The wind blows straight through her clothes and into her bones.

Naruto doesn't budge. She will not be coming inside tonight. So what if she's freezing?

"Can I come inside?" she asks.

"No," Naruto says flatly.

"It's really cold out here," her pale lips form lies as easily as they pushed him away, "and I'm lost."

"No, you're not," Naruto states.

An awkward pause, she shifts her weight, minuscule, from foot to foot. He stands stonily, like a statue on strike, arms blocking the doorway.

"I wanted to see you," she blurts out, pitching forward a step. "I came here, because I found your note behind my chair. I thought you might have…"

She trails into silence. Clearly, her instincts are not right. Her jade eyes are bloodshot from exhaustion. Tears are pooling in them against her will. Why is she always wrong?

"No." _Keep the feelings out_. "I don't."

"I'm sorry then," Sakura digs in her pocket, crumpling his note in her hand and drawing it out. "I'm sorry for wanting to make things right, okay?"

Naruto doesn't say anything.

"Take your fucking note!" her voice is raw, hoarse around the edges. Screaming is foreign territory for her. She hurls the crumpled ball of paper at Naruto; it smacks into his chest. The dead note falls to the ground.

He doesn't reach for it.

"Why won't you pick it up?" her eyes are mottled with tears and rivers of mascara are forging down her pale cheeks. She nudges it towards him with her foot. "It's your note! You wrote it! It's all your fault that I spent all fucking night searching for you, and you won't even talk to me. I know that I've hurt you. I know that, and I'm sorry! I am so sorry. It isn't enough, I know, but I'm sorry…"

She is breaking. Her flood of pain and regret that was supposed to be let out today was only stalled, and now it is overflowing. The seams that her hurt has been sealed away in are splitting.

"I know," Naruto says. . "But I'm not going to move."

"I shouldn't have expected you to," Sakura lets out a long, shuddering sigh. "I should just go. I was wrong, as always."

She steps away, shoving her hands in her pockets, and starts to walk back. Back to the street. Back to the fringes of becoming better, knowing only that she will be getting worse from this day on.

"Sakura," Naruto can't help himself as he speaks. "Wait a second."

She turns her head slightly, her windswept mop of pink hair falls over her eyes. What is she thinking? He doesn't know anymore. "What?" she sighs. She isn't ready to be hurt again. Not so soon.

"Let's take a walk," he offers. Something about her still entices him. She isn't pretty anymore. Her skin is a sickly white, her hair is tangled and in a mess, and her bones jut out all over her body. He wants to help her, though. She still thinks that he's saveable. His grip on the past is too strong to let a moment like this pass without closure.

"Okay," she whispers, wiping her face with a naked hand. It's too cold to be gloveless.

"You're cold, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she lets out a quiet laugh. "I guess I am."

"I know a place where we could go," Naruto says. He wanders there when he is sick of the macabre sights of every day street life. "It's not too far away."

"Lead the way," she gestures forward.

They walk in silence through the empty streets. They keep a careful distance from each other. Sure, she is cold, but is he much warmer? The streetlights are the only thing illuminating their path. They are exiting the quiet side of the city. Soon, other people start appearing, wandering from club to club in their drunken exile.

The parking garage has never looked so inviting. Naruto walks in the black hole full of empty cars, and Sakura uncertainly follows him. He turns sharply as they enter, and he pushes open a white door with an arrow pointing towards the concrete ceiling painted on it. He ascends the winding staircase inside the room, and she wheezes up after him. She is a lot weaker than she used to be, he notices. Another door. He breezes through it, and they are hit with a blast of warm air.

Sakura's eyes widen in wonder. They are standing above the street below, on a walkway between and through buildings. Small lights illuminate the path in a supernatural glow. She feels as if she's intruding on something, though she can't place her finger on what.

"The skywalk," she whispers.

"Have you been up here?" Naruto asks, speaking softly. One must never raise their voice in this realm of the upper-class people, even when they are all safely in their beds-or the beds of their mistresses.

"No, I never thought about it. It always seemed too…high for me."

"Ah."

They lightly tread on the carpeted floor, gazing down upon the city's third-rate nightlife. "Is that Sasuke?" Sakura asks, pointing at a character down on the street below. His dark hair is spiked in the back, and his bangs hang down over his face. He stumbles, crashing into a transvestite dressed in a costume reminiscent of Madonna's early days. She scowls, and he walks away, laughing wildly.

"I hope so," Naruto says darkly.

"The transvestite or the drunk?" Sakura teases. She isn't sure if she's doing the right thing-acting like they used to-but it feels right, so she does it.

"The drunk."

"Yeah," she shakes her head in disgust. "God, I don't know what I ever saw in him."

"Me neither," Naruto flashes her a quick smile. Maybe she has changed for the better.

"How have you been?" she asks as they cross through a corporate hallway and into another walkway.

"I've been changing," Naruto replies simply, staring out the window.

"Me too."

"I don't want to be Hokage anymore."

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't be worth it. I'd have worked so hard-for what? Sitting in an office all day and acting like I knew what I was doing. That doesn't sound like something I could do. I'm sick of lies. I just want to do something that will make me happy, and lying my ass off every day wouldn't work for me."

"Yeah, you'd go crazy, wouldn't you?" Sakura laughs. "They'd have to put you in a straightjacket for cussing out the enemy's leaders, and then you wouldn't exactly have much of a career."

"Fuck you, Akatsuki! Get your ass out of our country, or we'll get it out for you! We'll nuke your fucking base and then feed all of the survivors who missed the bombing to our children!" he chuckles. The joking has always been the easiest for him. "Yep, something like that."

"Yeah…"

They continue on in a brooding silence. Naruto doesn't know how to say what he should say. Sakura is on the same boat.

"Naruto?"

"Yeah?"

"What are we doing?"

"We're walking."

"I know that, I mean, like what is this? Is this the last time I'm going to see you?"

"Maybe."

"What do you mean, maybe?"

"I still don't forgive you, Sakura." He knows this as soon as it slips out of his mouth.

He stops walking, and leans up against the window. She halts, and takes a seat on the floor. Her legs ache, and the carpet is a welcome rest.

"I don't blame you," she sighs, attempting to run her fingers through her hair, but failing when they collide with the web of tangles. "I should've listened to you."

"I was just trying to help you," Naruto is intent on getting his thoughts out. "When you wouldn't listen to me after I yelled at you, I felt like I had to take matters into my own hands, and you wouldn't let me do that, either."

"I didn't want you to beat anybody up!" she protests. "Sasuke really screwed me up, but that was my own fault, and you shouldn't have hurt him because I hurt myself."

The road to acceptance's end is in sight.

"He was the reason that you stopped eating and started losing your faith in everyone. I couldn't watch you do that to yourself knowing that he was the one behind it all, and I just snapped. And it was so wrong that I was the one who got expelled. I didn't do the worst of it."

He rolls up his sleeve. Ugly scars dot his arm, each one with freshly healed blisters. Sakura lets out an involuntary gasp. "Dear god," she whispers. "I saw him burn you, but I didn't think it was that bad…"

"Yeah," Naruto slides the cloth back down over his arm. "Do you get why I was a little pissed?"

"Yeah," Sakura is still staring at his arm, and she reaches out, tracing a finger down it. "I do."

"Do you see why I can't forgive you, even if I want to?"

"If you want to forgive me, then why don't you?"

"I can't. It's not something I can explain."

"I guess so…"

Naruto pushes himself off of the window, and looks back down the way they came. "You should probably be getting home. Your mom is going to kill you."

"I'll just say the therapy session ran late."

She gets up shakily, unsure of herself and what the future will hold. Naruto stares at her, trying to memorize her features. He knows what he has to do.

He turns. His conscience won't let him do it. He has to leave, he can't do it, he won't be able to live with himself, no matter how much pain it'll save him in the future. He begins to walk back down the hallway. He has confidence that she'll find her way home.

"Naruto?"

It is his turn to stop in his tracks. "Sakura?"

"Am I going to see you again?"

"With any luck, no." He is doing it. He is finally ending the cycle of confusion and pain that got him to where he is now.

"What?" Her legs are shaking. She can't bear to lose him now, not when she's finally gotten so close to redeeming herself and saving the future.

"We are a disaster," he says gently, knowing that even a softer tone of voice cannot dull the words that he is uttering. "The past is going to follow us everywhere, and if we keep seeing each other, it's going to consume us."

"People move on!" Sakura places a bony, white hand on the window to steady herself. "I know that I can let it go. Could you?"

"Stop lying, Sakura," Naruto sighs. "You know that it's going to haunt you for years. You can't forget Sasuke, you can't forget Hinata's death, you couldn't even forget Ino dumping you in elementary school. How could you possibly forget this year?"

"Why are you bringing up her?" Sakura voice is filled with tremors. "This isn't about her!"

"This is why it can't work," he knows that what he is saying can't be taken back. He also knows that he means every word. "You can try to run from everything, but it's still just waiting behind you, waiting until you have to pause to take a breath, so it can overwhelm you again. Sakura, you're a runner, but I think that you're going too slow right now for you to be able to ever truly be ahead of your past."

Her eyes are glued to the floor.

"And that's why I can't love you again."

His footsteps echo through the skywalk as he turns the corner and exits back to the life that has become his own. Sakura doesn't move as the sun begins to creep over the horizon. She is caught between the day and the night, in a place where the past is alive, and the present is unreal.

Outside, Naruto passes Sasuke on the street. Sasuke blinks a few times, unsure of who just passed him by. His blurry vision only registers a mop of blonde hair and tall, broad shouldered figure. Names don't come to him in his state of forgetting.

Naruto gives Sasuke a nod. Maybe sometimes forgiveness is unnecessary, but he doesn't have to live in the past to know that it happened.

* * *

_Author's Notes: I'm sorry for the long break between updates, though I assume that this is probably how the update schedule will go. Except for Nanowrimo, which I won for the first time on Tuesday, I'm a very slow writer. I hope that each update will be worth it, as I plan to make them juicy and as lovely as I can without going over the top. Thank you, reader, for waiting through the long November and still being here for December. (: And by the way, like the new title? _

_Letter To Miss, December 4th, 2010__  
_


	3. Pink Lips

_I do not leave you in anger. The anger faded, in time, and all that was left was a chasm of cold, dark empty. I lost the capacity to feel, to care, to want, to dream. The only thing I was was lost._

Fresh footprints illuminated Sasuke's path as he bounced his way home. Despite his less than wonderful morning, he had had a good day at school. He'd aced all of his tests; Father was going to be so proud of him! Though the sun was slipping under the horizon, the world was a very bright place for this bright boy.

Take One: Sasuke flies in the front door, propelling himself off of the ground and leaping into his father's open arms. He laughs giddily as he is spun around in circles. Father congratulates him and praises him on another good job. Mother pokes her head out of the kitchen-it was her place in their household-and smiles as she announces that she is cooking Sasuke's favorite meal for dinner. Itachi pats Sasuke on the head, nodding and giving Sasuke a satisfied grin. They all laugh and smile and talk, for once. His family drenches him in bushels of praise. It is a golden moment; it is the good day for every ten bad ones. The peace before the next storm.

Take Two: Sasuke slips inside the side door, quickly surveying the empty hallway, then tip-toeing to the kitchen. He peeks inside. His mother, streaks of gray becoming prominent in her jet black hair, greets him with a characteristic close-lipped smile. Sasuke whispers his own hello, but she doesn't reply. She simply stares out the window-she spends her days miles away. Sasuke loves her, yes, but it is his father's approval he is searching for. He crosses the kitchen and enters the living room. His father is sitting on the couch, legs casually crossed, a pipe protruding from his mouth. Sasuke reins in his excitement. Best not to reveal too much now. His emotions have always gotten him into trouble. Sasuke draws the folded papers out of his pocket, smoothes them out on his shirt. His father glances up; he raises his eyebrows. Sasuke hands them over, letting his lips lift the tiniest bit. An eagerness to please. Father's mouth begins to open, and-

The sun had set.

Sasuke padded up his front steps. Take Three, perhaps? It was the unforeseen ending. Sasuke welcomed new things, though. He was always willing to try a new adventure. His small, pale hand slid around the doorknob when the glass shattered inside. Sasuke froze up. This had happened before, when Father had fought with Itachi over "the set in stone future." They'd had to buy another TV after that spat.

Loud thumps. Footsteps thundering past the door. Sasuke bit his lip. Itachi would be ashamed of him, he knew, for not diving into the warfare that sometimes plagued his household. Maybe he shouldn't just wait it out this time. He had to grow up someday, so why not take that step? He turned the handle.

The silence was overwhelming. The room was dark; Sasuke could only make out vague shapes in the varying shades of black. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. The nothing was more frightening than the pounding.

_Creeeeak._ The kitchen floorboards wept. Sasuke jumped, and a deep whoosh of air escaped from him. Had he been holding his breath the entire time? Another _creeeeeeak_. Sasuke fumbled for the light switch, clawing the walls in a desperate attempt to illuminate the room that was morphing into a nightmare. Something was there. Something was there. Something was there. Another _creeeeeak_, followed by several more, and a small crash. More glass breaking, Sasuke was sure. He couldn't stop shaking. "Stop it!" he whispered through clenched teeth, giving himself a weak slap on the face. His nails dug into the wallpaper. Floral chips wedged themselves in Sasuke, and he let out a whimper as blood seeped out from under his fingernails. He was disciplined, however. He would not give up without a fight. And so strips of wallpaper were shredded from the walls, fluttering to the floor without the faintest sound.

There was an unfamiliar grunt. Nothing moved. Not Sasuke, not the potted plants smashed on the ground, not the massive figure slumped and leaning on the kitchen doorframe. The figure let out a long, tortured groan, and collapsed to their knees in a heap. Shudders wracked Sasuke's body, but he couldn't take a step. Blood dripped from his fingertips to the floor. Sweat stained his underarms and washed his back in a cold perspiration. His lip was punctured, and the metallic flavor filled his mouth. He squinted his eyes. If only he could see, he wouldn't be so...so...

The shadow shape's form twitched. One. Twice. Maybe even a third time. Sasuke threw his hands over his mouth. _Don't scream don't scream don't scream don't scream_-it tumbled to the floor-_don't scream don't scream don't scream don't scream_-it was otherworldly-_don't scream_-the wails were raw, cracking and fraying at the edges with hoarse surreality, echoing through the house-_don't scream_ _don't scream don't scream_-rising higher and higher in an animal falsetto-_don't scream don't scream don't scream don't scream DON'T SCREAM DON'T SCREAM-_Sasuke could see the seemingly endless black hole of the thing's mouth, wide and ugly in its insatiable despair-_DON'T SCREAM DON'T SCREAM DON'T SCREAM DON'T YOU DARE_-

It flew out like a bullet seeking an undeserving target. A rare and nearly unachievable harmony poisoned the air with fear and hatred and rage and lost. Sasuke threw himself towards the wall, slapping his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to shelter himself from the unbearable sound that he couldn't help but be a part of. He sidled further along the wall. He couldn't handle the shrieks bouncing off of the door and into his young ears. His illegible wails began to form words. "I GOT THE A!" Sasuke choked on the last word, and continued on in the cracking animal tones. "I ACED MY TESTS! I WON MY FIGHTS! FATHER! FATHER, IS THAT YOU? WILL YOU STOP? I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY YOU AND ITACHI ARE FIGHTING AGAIN, AND I WANT IT TO STOP, TOO! I LOVE YOU BOTH, AND I'M SORRY! I AM SO SORRY! PLEASE! STOP! STOP Stop…"

He trailed off as his voice support failed and trickled away. He was left with only a hoarse shell as his defense now. _What_? He never saw the warnings as his foot became lodged under something on the floor, and he tumbled forward. As his body crumbled to the ground, the arm nudged the light switch. _Flash_.

Something was moving inside of Sasuke.

He wasn't quite sure of what he had landed on. It was warm, yes. It was wet, that too. Hair was caught in between his teeth, and he didn't know where it came from and _OH GOD _more blood was creeping into his mouth and _JESUS CHRIST _the thing under him was twitching and _WHY OH WHY_ the screaming was louder than Sasuke could take and everything was, oh how everything was, breaking.

Sasuke scrambled up, pushing himself off of the mangled remains on the floor with a speed that he hadn't known that he'd possessed. His whole body trembled uncontrollably. He wheezed as his throat urged him to scream and he failed himself yet again, unable to make a noise even now.

Silence. Unimaginable, breathing silence. It filled the room as much, perhaps more, than the screaming. Sasuke raised his eyes. What was he seeing?

It wasn't true.

He had to be delusional. Sasuke screwed his black eyes shut. Shook his head a few times. When he let his lids slide open, the scene was still the same.

His body convulsed, and he heaved the contents of his stomach onto the floor. He shook, and shivered, and then wheezed as his body tried to shove more up his throat. It couldn't be. Never. Not him. Sasuke's gaze dropped to the floor. He covered his mouth, stifling his inaudible wail. _Mom_? His mother! She had been the one that loved him. Not his father, _her_. Sasuke crumpled to the ground as Itachi rose from his pile on the floor. His shirt had been white that day, but now it was red, all red. Shards of glass stuck out of each of his cheeks; the room was reflected in them. He walked slowly, but consistently. His pace never changed, despite the blood on his face and the limp in his step. "Sasuke," his voice was airy, light, hopelessly in denial.

Sometimes when the truth sets in, you are left stripped of everything you knew previously. Nothing will ever be the same.

* * *

"Damn," Anko said, her eyebrows raised. She blinked her hazel eyes a few times and shook her head sadly. "I never would've thought the kid was capable of _this_."

"It's rather tragic," Kakashi sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. "Itachi was a wonderful student-one of my best."

"What about Sasuke?" Anko pointed out. "Do you think he's going to be okay after this?"

"Of course not," Kakashi replied. "I'm only saying that it's sad that Itachi had to end up like this."

"Why do you care?" Anko snapped, slapping the table. "Itachi murdered his own parents, and Sasuke was nearly killed, and you're sitting here worrying about the murderer? Sasuke's life is going to be completely _fucked_ now."

"You can't say that for sure."

"Trust me, Kakashi. When you've seen kids who've gone through shit like that, you'll know what I'm talking about."

* * *

Sasuke didn't speak to anyone. They came and went, tossing concerned glances and notes of consolation in his direction, but nobody said anything. Sasuke hadn't spoken for months, even though he had returned to school and was just returning for his prescribed therapy session. The therapist would talk at him, and Sasuke would doodle on the paper in front of him, mostly in red crayon. At school, he drew in blue.

When he was released, he left the room and went down the hall to his bedroom. The group home wasn't something he had chosen-if he could have chosen. No one thinks to ask a six year old what they'd like to happen to them.

He curled up on his sheets, not bothering to pull the covers over him. He didn't blink for as long as possible-until tears were wetting the mattress and his eyes hurt as if they'd been stabbed with needles. The thought of closing his eyes, however, made him want to wail. The images would replay in his mind, over and over again, until he thrashed in frustration and fear. And then Itachi's face would fade away as the syringe was injected in his arm by a tense and overworked doctor, and off Sasuke would drift.

It always hit him like a shot to the chest when he came back.

* * *

He was ten now: four years had gone and past. He sat at the dinner table of yet another family, in yet another house. Ever since his seventh birthday-his first without his family-he had been like a joint in the back of a teenager's van. Passed around from hand to hand until he couldn't keep track of who had had him.

Mrs. Yamanaka spooned a generous helping of rice into Sasuke's bowl. She was glowing with happiness, although Sasuke couldn't imagine why. His lack of imagination didn't surprise him, however. Happy was an airplane that he hadn't seen since his long forgotten days.

Ino and her best friend, Sakura, sat across the table from him. They chattered amongst themselves, throwing quick, innocent glances at him every once in a while. Sasuke knew that Ino had a crush on him. He could see it in the way her cheeks flushed and the way she flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. Sasuke knew that Sakura had a crush on him, too. She was more subtle, however. She kept her drifting gaze in check, and her hands folded in her lap.

Sasuke didn't know how to react to girls. They were the world outside of Konoha. Mysterious, foreign, and utterly untouchable. He was ten years old. When he escaped the reality, he didn't go to the bed of some beautiful girl. In it, he runs back to his front porch, scrubbed clean, and his family when they smiled sitting on cheap lawn chairs is waiting for him. A glass is raised in recognition-a wall is it.

Had they smiled at all? Alarm rushed over Sasuke. He couldn't remember! He stared into his plate, screwing his eyes shut and willing it all to rush over him once again. He could see wrinkles, yes, but what else? Inky hair strewn all over the floor, in Sasuke's mouth, his eyes. The taste of blood.

A grain of rice twitched. And then another. And another. The plate was writhing. The masses of rice were sprouting eyes and then fingers, long, spindly ones, dead for years. The eyes were glowing with a nothing Sasuke knew quite well. He didn't move, though. Didn't pick up his fork or casually mention to Ino that maybe his rice was wiggling and sprouting appendages. They crawled towards him on their contorted growths, tumbling forward and then balancing themselves and continuing their path towards the paralyzed boy. Their eyes were wide and black, with no emotions except for a deep, unfathomable desire for _something_. "Aren't you hungry?" Mrs. Yamanka cocked her head to the side, her silverware balanced in one hand.

Sasuke dug his fork in and began to eat.

* * *

The first time was in seventh grade. It was behind the school, with a group of eighth graders and an acquaintance from English class, a slacker by the name of Shikamaru. "It'll make you feel great," he had promised. And it did.

* * *

The pot soon became a staple in Sasuke's wardrobe. He kept some on him at all times. He smoked it in the bathroom. He smoked it during lunch. With friends, by himself. The circumstances didn't matter. It made him happy, or at least it numbed him for a while. Sometimes the feeling lasted all day, on a good day. Others, it took him a few smokes just to survive.

His newfound friends showed him other drugs. Sasuke always tried them. To not experiment was to be a coward, and that earned one the most disgraceful expulsion imagineable to his thirteen-year-old mind. Sasuke had no desire to be dragged through the woods and tossed in the creek and then beaten with sticks. That sort of suffering didn't appeal to him. It was avoidable suffering, and Sasuke frowned upon that with a tangible disdain.

Sasuke would skip eighth period nearly every day with Shikamaru. They didn't always smoke pot, though that was their default activity if they couldn't think of anything else to do. Sometimes they explored, wandering through the woods as the sun bled into the sky until it finally succumbed to death beneath the horizon. Other times, they crashed in Shikamaru's bedroom. They had to shove piles of trash to the side and swipe dirty clothes into the laundry, but after the work, they would lay across the floor with The White Stripes blaring and all of the thoughts being blasted from their brains in a mindless blaze of crashing guitars and Jack White.

"This is what we live for," Shikamaru would say as they stared at the ceiling.

"Yes," Sasuke would reply, hollowly, of course, but never dishonestly.

Sometimes they would talk about girls. Shikamaru was beginning to show a newfound interest in them. This was the seventh grade, Sasuke knew. Didn't you not start paying attention to girls until high school? He was utterly perplexed at the whole matter. His replies, which usually came easy in the presence of Shikamaru, would vanish as soon as the opposite sex was mentioned. He simply did not care about them. They wouldn't make him forget. He was convinced.

* * *

Shikamaru led the way on that cloudy afternoon. Their jackets were thin, and so they walked closely to suck as much warmth from the other as they could. The woodland path to the middle school was treacherous; Sasuke found himself tripping over rocks and branches strewn over the ground. He wondered, momentarily, if Itachi had done this at his age. How old was his brother now? Twenty-three? He had been ten years older than Sasuke before that night, and he still is ten years older. That seems to have been the only thing that hasn't changed.

They emerged into the clearing. It was just barely obscured by the trees, and Sasuke could make out the school through the naked branches. He squinted. He couldn't find the sign. There was a rustling in the bushes, and Sasuke whipped around, breathing hard. Shikamaru chuckled. "Sasuke, it's just girls. I know that you freak out about weird noises, but seriously."

Sasuke's reply was a stony silence, and he crossed his arms across his chest. The October evening chill was starting to get to him. The two girls stood hip to hip, teeth chattering, hands shoved deep in their pockets. Sasuke recognized them from his English class. The blonde, Ino, fluttered her fingers at him in a girly wave. The other girl was Hinata Hyuga. Her hood was drawn tight around her face, and her milky white skin had been scratched raw by the wind. She glanced nervously at Ino, chewing on her pink lip.

Sasuke found himself entranced by this. Those small, pink lips moving back and forth as she nibbled on them in her mutual anxiety. They were beautiful lips, Sasuke noticed. He hadn't seen a pair quite like them.

"Well," Shikamaru said lightly. "How was the walk?"

"Why are we here again?" Sasuke asked, voice airy, distant. What would they taste like?

"I got bored," Shikamaru replied and took a seat in the grass. He patted the dirt next to him, and Ino plopped down after a moment.

Hinata's eyes were so odd. They were like her lips, a rarity in the common world. She was a snowman, frozen on the other side of the clearing. Sasuke's legs itched to cross that chasm; his fingers twitched. He stayed in place.

Her eyes actively avoided his. A chance meeting would be an apocalypse-zombies, Sasuke would have preferred. Should he say something? Toy soldiers waged battles on either side of his brain. The left side demanded to stand there like an average thirteen year old boy with a girl standing in front of him will always do when faced with a rampaging war in his brain. The right side was compelled to point plastic, green guns in every which direction while poking at Sasuke's feet and telling them to just "DO IT!"

He settled on the middle. That deep, dark hole with the protruding tentacles and leaking gases of past separating the masses. Drips of green sweated their ways down the faces of plastic. One foot after the other, they waddled along until their torsos had melded into their knees and their knees had shriveled into their feet and their feet had flowed to the edge of the hole and then they _stopped_.

Hood pulled tightly over her head, Hinata was sprinting. Up the hill, through the shrubs, and her feet finally pounded onto the parking lot concrete.

The battle had been won for him.

* * *

Headphones melded into his ears. The sweet music tasted just like honey to his mind. It had been a bad day. Naruto had attempted, to no avail, to show up Sasuke during gym class. The girls had giggled and the boys had cheered. This was the end of seventh grade, and anything was hilarious.

Burgundy Drive was always quiet at that time of day, when the children had just gotten out of school and the mothers were rushing them home in a vain attempt to get back to work in time. The houses were huge and the wallets were even bigger. Sasuke didn't belong here, he knew. He stayed with a high school teacher now, Kakashi, who lived in a small two-bedroom apartment on the other side of town. The homes of the rich were something he'd known many years ago, seven, to be precise. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette. Fuck how the neighborhood smelled. He could feel his family coming back.

A dirty, possibly black car with a dented door pulled into the driveway of a house across the street. Sasuke took a drag, letting the smoke drift away like so many other things. His black eyes were fixated on the opening door, the small foot stepping gingerly onto the concrete from the passenger side, and the large foot stomping down from the driver's. Another drag. A man, a scarecrow in form, slammed the door behind him and folded his arms over his narrow chest. He tapped his foot on the pavement. Time was running out.

Sasuke stubbed his cigarette out on the brick house behind him. Thank god that yards were out of fashion. He watched with a warped sense of fascination as the man's face gradually shifted shades of red. A familiar figure finally stepped from the passenger side. Sasuke tossed his cigarette on the ground. A voice in his head whispered that she was quiet, observant, and probably didn't appreciate the grittier way of life that Sasuke, only thirteen, had sunken into so quickly. Hinata's milky eyes were gripping onto the ground for dear life. The man, presumably her father, was saying something, though Sasuke could not catch the words. The distance was too great.

Her father promptly shut his mouth and turned on his heel, storming into the house but quietly shutting the door behind him. Hinata leaned up against the house's wall and slid to the ground. Sasuke craned his neck. She had fallen out of sight; the bushes obscured her form. A battle was formulating in Sasuke's mind, but this time, he ended it like an election: with a bomb of a rare decisive moment.

He crossed the street, nearly grateful that the speeding soccer moms were all away carting their kids to practice instead of running him down. The bushes approached, closer, closer, finally at his feet. He stepped around them, and he didn't wince when a thorn scratched his pale arm.

Hinata blinked, eyes wide, small mouth forming a small o as Sasuke sat down next to her. Neither of them spoke. She stared at him in a dumbfounded silent clamor, and he stared back at her, wondering and pondering his next word choice. The minutes passed on her cell phone's clock. The second hand ticked in Sasuke's mind.

"You smell like smoke," Hinata said softly, surprisingly. She was never one to initiate a conversation.

"Yeah," Sasuke replied, and mentally he gave up on hiding his habit. He reached into his back pocket. "Want one?"

Hinata bit her lip, chewing on it for a moment and turning over the idea with her teeth. "Yeah," she finally said, nodding quickly, so she couldn't take anything back.

He handed a cigarette to her, and her hand shook as she drew it to her lips. "Do you want me to light it?" Sasuke asked.

"Yes, please," Hinata whimpered.

A flick of a lighter later, and Hinata was dying. Her body wracked with tremors and shakes of the second most violent degree. Sasuke took the burning cigarette from her fingers and stubbed it out on the wall, ignoring the singe mark he'd left on the pristine white paint. He tossed it in the bushes and watched her shake and quiver like a branch in a storm as she coughed all of the smoke out of her system. Sasuke closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. He wished that she'd smoked before. Things were always easier the second time. Hinata's coughs and whimpers were an undesirable soundtrack for an undesirable day, though he supposed it all was fitting. Every day was undesirable for Sasuke Uchiha.

Hacking subsiding, Hinata let out a last halfhearted wheeze. The smoke burned on her cheeks, and she averted her eyes. "It's okay," Sasuke shrugged and then lit a smoke for himself. "Some people just can't do it."

"I can do it," Hinata protested softly. "I just haven't gotten the hang of it yet."

"Okay."

"Do you not believe me?" Sasuke hadn't thought her voice could get any quieter, but as usual, he had found himself to be wrong about yet another person.

"I do believe you," he replied. And for some reason, he meant it.

"Thank you." The smile was brief, fleeting. Had he really seen it at all?

"Do you want to try again?" Sasuke asked, a little uncertain, a little confused.

"Yes." She held out her palm. "Yes."

* * *

Their friendship progressed, as friendships naturally do progress, in a distinguished pattern. There was that first true meeting in which there is a mutual feeling of intrigue and a taste of something fresh and _different_. Then the casual conversation, the cautious attempts to try to wean an inkling of information from that engaging new person. In time, progress finally comes or goes, like progress so ordinarily does, and a trust is struck.

And history ensues.

* * *

_Author's Note: This chapter is divided into two parts, as I realized that it would be ill-fitting to jam so much into a single chapter as I did with the first chapter. I apologize for the late updates, as well, but I really do need to take my time if I want to write quality. Truly, I'm sorry for the wait. Thank you for reading this chapter, dear reader, and I hope that you enjoy it enough to accept the wait. _

_Letter To Miss, January 16th, 2011  
_


	4. The Chicken and The Weed

_Do you believe in second chances? Thirds? Fourths? Or is there only one try to get things right? _

Sasuke is dying.

He is not in any emergency room. There are no doctors for one who has fallen as far as this. What about **her** had always made him reel? He finds himself slipping, losing his feeble footing on the daily flight. The window is rattling. Is it their breath? Have they caught up to him? He is forever running-sixteen and on the mooove.

They creep up his neck, nipping at his bones, immersing themselves in his unwashed black hair. A shudder passes through him. His teeth are chattering. What about **him** had always made him so _fucking _cold? Another image bangs on the door to his mind. Pressure, always the pressure, building and building, and now it is boiling over the top of his volcano…

Sasuke is desperately clawing through his backpack. The hunt is on. Window lets out a shrill whistle. All is breaking, all is breaking. When had they become two? Was it when they realized that only the pieces of two people broken completely in half could truly fit into each other?

Cold sweat. Gone. All gone. Incision in his brain is driving him insane. Kakashi? Oh, Kakashi? Why did you have to get a drink tonight? Thirty-five and burdeneeed, "Sorry to be heavy, but heavy is the cost." Hinata's favorite song. Muddled, so muddled. Invasions are never appreciated by the people left over. Present tense is being stolen by the past. Green army men quiver in their boots. Sasuke craves it; he needs it, though he doesn't want it. He feels **him**; he smells **her**.

It's coming, coming, coooming.

* * *

"You are not a paragon." Hinata took a swig of cheap beer. "Contrary to popular opinion."

"I love you," Sasuke answered.

* * *

Sasuke's name is called. He eases out of his chair-he has been sitting and waiting, for far too long. He strides to the podium, and confidently takes his certificate from the principal's red, cracked hands. Briefly glancing into the crowd, he can't believe what he's seeing.

Nervously, he walks quickly back to his seat, head down, eyes fixated on the dirty gym floor. Hinata leans over and whispers in his ear, "Fourteen and releaseeed."

Sasuke leans on his elbows, leaning on his knees, leaning on **her**. Figuratively, of course. "I saw **him**."

"**Him**?" Her breath is sharp.

"Yes," Sasuke replies.

She softly sighs. Understanding is the greatest burden. Tentatively, she curls **her** fingers into his. An act of unimaginable bravery, Sasuke accepts. His pulse is slowing. This has happened before, once. "Just hold on," she said, and she is saying it now. What a mantra. Wandering minds think alike. Sasuke takes a deep breath.

He looks back. Principal has ceased fire, and the parade of students has come to a close. There will be no greetings, no wishes of luck from **him**. Itachi has fled the scene early. The police are on their way, Sasuke thinks, no, knows. He wouldn't let **him**self get caught, not even to see his own little brother graduate middle school. Eight years and still on the run. A magnificent accomplishment for anyone, though not one to be respected.

The swarm closes in. Students are leaping from their chairs, whooping in elation and the pure ecstatic freeeeee that they are temporarily up to their chins in. Sasuke remains in his seat, holding Hinata down with him.

* * *

"Do you want a smoke?"

"No, thank you."

* * *

Rays of sunlight tunnel their way in through the leafy shield. They cast a sickly yellow pallor on Hinata's usually gray face-one that Sasuke enjoys. He breaths in the heat, closing his eyes and letting it settle on his face. The summer is in full glory, though the threat of high school looms closer, its shadow of gloom growing with each hour. July, July, oh the blessing and the placeholder you can be, and what wonders you held.

**Her** lips are raised in an indecipherable smile. **Her** eyes can't leave that rare joy on his face. **Her **leg dangles from the tree branch, swinging in the wind. **Her **darkhair flutters. Sasuke opens his eyes.

He is perched above **her**. Glancing down, he catches **her **eye. He isn't quite sure what he is seeing. Is that a yearning he is viewing? Or is it a glimmer of indecision? Or admiration? Inquisition? Affection? He, like a monkey, lowers himself to **her **branch. In his eyes, Sasuke sees what he wants to see.

Hinata blinks. When did his face get so close to **her**s? Those lips again, so small, so pink, so there…

Wrong move, wrong move! Sasuke nearly pulls away, but the vacuum is sucking him in. Neither of them have done this before, and that makes it all the more alluring. He rushes back to the playing field, seeking entrance to the major leagues. His tongue poking at the cracks, demanding an entrance. It is ushered in after a momentary delay. Hinata is still, malleable like clay. Sasuke molds her, directing her where to go without any experience of his own. She follows blindly, a little fearfully, though Sasuke wishes he wasn't aware of the latter.

He is the one to lean back, to whisper quietly, "Another day."

**Her** nod is just a slight shift of her chin. She blinks again, and **her **face flushes. "I should go home," she says quickly.

Sasuke lets **her**. He watches, engrossed by how nimbly she drops from branch to branch, immersed in **her** thighs clutching the rough bark as she shimmies down the rest of the trunk.

Oh, July…

* * *

"I punish you for what _you _do, not what I'm drinking," she whimpered. "It was something like that."

"I have an idea."

* * *

The needle is so comforting, piercing into his skin, releasing its chemicals like a wave of ecstasy. It is almost sexual, this healing. In fact, it's better than sex. Sasuke would rather shoot up any day. Besides, who is left to for him to fuck? Hinata is gone. He saw **her** with Kiba the other night. He tried Sakura, but the feeling, the feeling… She was not light, effortless, and beautifully decomposed like Hinata. Sakura didn't fit into him right. She couldn't have a conversation. She wouldn't smoke a joint. She was wrong, and her presence was too, what was that song that Hinata had loved? "Personal." Sakura was heavy, too impersonal. Choked up by her little crush. Not free with him. Not Hinata.

The orgasmic rush. His veins pulse. The world is slowing down. Sasuke's mouth is a desert. He giggles. Who gives a fuck if there's no one to fuck? He bends his elbow, letting his arm sway from the joint. His hand is an anchor, so heavy and immoveable. The October chill is so warm; Sasuke is so warm. The window is open. Is that where the cold breeze is coming from? He peeks out the window. He spots **him**, standing across the street, gazing solemnly up at Kakashi's apartment. "What the fuck are you looking at?" Sasuke taunts, each word slow and dragged out. Nothing like his heartbeat.

No answer.

"They're going to find you, you know," Sasuke shouts, tapping his fingers on the windowsill, shifting from foot to foot.

Itachi smiles. Or did he? Sasuke is jelly; he is swaying like Hinata's leg in the wind.

"I don't care that you're here!" Sasuke shrieks in a joyful slur. "I could fucking care less!"

The grin is spreading across that ash face. His dark, uncut hair obscures his eyes. Sasuke's pupils, barely visible, are constricted. The circles surround his eyes, pointing their guns. He can't sleep. He doesn't eat. He just shoots uuuuup, and dooooown he falls.

Emotions. Fading.

Leaning back on his heels, he crumbles.

Consciousness. Fading.

He is on the nod; he is on the stumble. He is losing this battle with **him**, but he has lost the battle with **her**. Sasuke's hands won't move. They are so _heavy_, one hundred pounds too much for Sasuke to consider attempting to lift. Thirsty. So thirsty. His feet are heavier than his hands. Movement is taboo.

Sasuke can't get the image of **him** out of his head. Ten years of running, to what? Was it the chicken or the weed that came first? Sasuke giggles at his own ingenuity. Nodding, nodding, fading, fading. _Goodbye, Sasuke_, the syringe whispers. _You are in my domain_.

* * *

"You'll get a car, and we'll drive everywhere. We'll ride it over the oceans and go to America! We'll start in Oregon and drive to New York and then maybe we'll backtrack and build a home, start a family somewhere in Wisconsin or maybe in Minnesota. Somewhere cold. Somewhere far away from here. We'll never have to pop a pair of tires again, because we'll have our own."

* * *

"This is beautiful!" Hinata laughs, leaning out the car window. **Her** hair is a dark trail behind her; it is whipping in a violent dance orchestrated by the perpetual wind. Sasuke smiles back at **her**. Summer, again, and free. One year down, three to go. They thrive with the sense of progress.

The hills scroll by. Purple waves soaring, obscuring the city lights of Konoha. The grass flutters with a shallow breeze. They are driving fast. Too fast, naturally, for sixteen and fifteen. Too fast for anyone, really. Hinata's eyes are closed and the corners of **her** mouth are turned upwards and the serenity is just too lovely to imagine. Silently, Sasuke thanks Kakashi for the birthday present. A shitty old car is a dream come true to a teenager who just needs to be on the move. Always on the move.

The radio is blasting Velvet Underground's "Heroin." The White Stripes have faded with time and have been replaced with a new sound. Shikamaru, too, is gone, reclusing for the summer in a wilderness extravaganza, hiding from his ex? girlfriend. "Have you ever tried it?" Hinata yells over the wind.

"Tried what?" Sasuke glances from the road to peek at **her** alabaster skin.

"Heroin!" she shouts back.

"No," Sasuke answers. "I haven't."

He can feel **her **smile warming his face. "Good," she laughs jovially. "Promise me you won't?"

"I promise."

"I love you, Sasuke."

"I love you, too."

* * *

"What's that on your wrists?"

* * *

"Is love undone by sex?" Hinata rolls over on Sasuke's bed to look at him, a faint blush on **her** cheeks.

"I don't know. I don't think so," Sasuke muses, perched on the edge of his bed. "What about you?"

"I don't know." She is staring at the ceiling now. Avoidance is her forte. "That's why I'm asking _you_."

"Does your dad know you're here?" Sasuke lays down next to **her**, facing **her**.

"N-no," she stammers slightly. "He doesn't even know you're alive."

"I guess it's better that way." Sasuke wishes she would look at him.

"It is," Hinata says, complying with Sasuke's unspoken request.

"Since it's only three in the morning, first semester, freshman year," Sasuke smirks, "what would you like to do?"

"I don't want to go home," she whispers.

He kisses **her** gently, **her** lips, **her** hair. She is always in doubt, but she will he sway. Going down, easing away the layers of clothing, almost as if he is peeling an onion. **Her** moving back, going up his chest, nuzzling his neck, breathing hard, trembling incessantly. His tongue is paving new roads never traveled before. **Her** breaths are slight and warm and tickle his ear. She has never been this exposed, Sasuke knows. A slight scratching on his neck, a few tentative bites, **her** fingers kneading his scalp. Long shuddering sigh, content perhaps, frightened, perhaps.

She is naked and she is crying, and it is so heartbreakingly beautiful. **Her** clothes litter the floor, **her** tears slip down Sasuke's face. "I'm so scared," she whispers.

"I have a condom," Sasuke murmurs. Truth. Just in case.

"What happens if we lose?" She is shaking so hard. Sasuke is so hard. This is so hard.

"We won't lose," Sasuke answers confidently.

"I mean, what happens if this is it? What if after tonight, you never talk to me again? What if I wake up and you're not here? I-I can't…I can't…"

"Hinata," Sasuke reaches under his pillow, drawing out a pack of cigarettes, and then continues, "Stop doubting everything. You can trust in some stuff."

"Like what?" Hinata bites **her** lip.

Sasuke grabs a lighter from his pocket. _Whoooosh_. Breathing in and releasing, he's careful not to get ash on his bed. Kakashi doesn't wash the bedding often. "I'm here," Sasuke answers.

She smiles slightly, if not sadly. She buries **her** head in his chest, murmurs softly, "Are you real?"

He grabs **her** wrists, kissing each of them. Hinata shivers. He kisses her on the mouth, finally. "Yes."

* * *

"You need to stop."

"I'll stop when you do."

* * *

Was it all of the weed that had made him say it? Or was it the beer? He is dangling his leg like he did so long ago, but today he is perched on the hood of his car, rather than the ancient oak. Gone. She has run away. He opened his mouth and the words, once pent up like chickens in a coop, were spat out, harsh and brutal, not all true, though mostly they were.

He hadn't meant to make her cry. Honest. He just needed a break from all of the accusations, that was all! She had backed away from him just as she had backed away from the drugs and now she is sobbing and away so far away and it's his fault and why does he feel like he has just seen **him**?

Creeping through the rippling grasses-it must be **him**! Overriding thoughts of **her**, thoughts of everyone, washed away with the simple image. Sasuke leaps from the hood, stumbling and falling as he hits the ground. Dirt on his face, dirt on his black shirt, he shakily rises again. The search has resumed.

With bloodshot eyes, he flies. Ducking into the grasses, throwing himself after the imaginary trail of footprints in the dust. Why hasn't he found **him** yet? Sixteen-sixteen and never stooopping…oh, shut up, Hinata!-years of mostly ceaseless hunting, and now Sasuke is so close he can smell the dried blood, the dusky cologne. His hand, outstretched, reaching, reaching…

He falls forward. Pitching, tumbling, stumbling, crumbling. Eyes inch open. Realization dawns.

Shouldn't he be chasing **her**?

No, he decides. Not now.

Curling up in the dirt, he sleeps.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: This is likely to be the last update on Anthems for a while, though the story still has at least four chapters left. I have found myself caught up in the nasty frenzy of the great plot bunny, and I have bowed down to it and sworn my current allegiance. For anyone interested, I have included the URL of this new horror fic. Thank you for reading, and I am truly sorry for the long wait and the hiatus.

/s/6777848/1/Other_Towns_and_Cities

Thank you,

Letter To Miss, March 3rd 2011


	5. Tying Her Laces

**Act Two**

_Sometimes I even wonder if he saw it coming. I'm wondering right now.. Will I be wondering when I'm gone? No, I won't. I'll be fixed. Better._

_- Hinata Hyuuga's Suicide Note_

_She will be missed._

There is a lingering fear in her step. In the way she buttons her coat, the way she hastily shoves her shoelaces into knots. Her hand darts into her pocket, stroking her month old livelihood, and rushing out again to wave goodbye. He watches out the window as she slips out the door like a fish from between his fingers.

Within the soft folds of her pocket, she twists the cap off the bottle. Two pills later, the cap twists back on, and she swallows. A sight of relief follows. Sakura's footsteps are the only noise on this street, fiercely pounding a cadence suitable for a thrash dance rather than the daily trip. Her hood is pulled tightly around her pale face, and her cheeks are flushed with the cold. She glances behind her. Her pace quickens.

The curtains swish shut. Shikamaru pads to the kitchen, feet cold against the hardwood floor. He opens the fridge. His face is bathed in the golden, sour light as he stares down the cartons of expired milk and moldy bread. Last night's leftover takeout is the only option, and so he digs into the tasteless cashew chicken. "Shikamaru?" the boy in his bedroom calls.

"What, Naruto?"

All of the strength her body can muster is just barely enough to push open the cemetery gates. She edges in sideways, breathing hard, arms stinging, legs aching. Sakura brushes herself off and heads off towards the east end of the cemetery.

Sunlight peeks in from behind the blinds, and Naruto shoves his face into the pillow to hide from the light. Shikamaru leans against the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Shaking his head in disbelief, he is the bearer of bad news. "That was Sakura."

"I know." Naruto's voice is muffled by his pillow.

"So why didn't you go out there?"

"I don't go back on my word. Not even for her."

A bead of sweat trickles down Sakura's forehead. Another pill to get up the hill. It's not too much farther. The snow is moving below her feet; she stumbles a little to make sure. It's a holiday greeting from Hinata, Sakura decides. Merry Christmas to you, too! The cemetery doesn't open until ten, but Sakura's gift is this early visit. For all she knows, she's the only one wandering these open hallways of the dead. The Hyuugas fled town back in October, but they forgot to take their daughter with them.

Sasuke's hospital room overlooks the graveyard. Each morning, he awakes in a cold sweat, haggard breaths making his weak chest tremble. His nails have been gnawed to stubs. Sasuke had always dreamed of seeing his parents again, but now he wants nothing more than to be worlds away from them, from **her**, from the shadows sneaking out from under his bed, from **him**. He's always watching. Even when mother, with her head bashed in and her eye dangling from the socket, reaches out to devour Sasuke in her embrace, Sasuke is still being watched by **him**. Kakashi is wrong. The doctors can hide his drugs, but they can't hide his family. He glances out his window for the first time today.

Shikamaru lets Naruto go back to sleep.

Her finger traces the letters engraved on the gravestone.

"_Hinata Hyuuga: 1995-2010_

_Beloved daughter_

_She will be missed."_

And below:

"_Who got her stash?"_

"_She was clean, dumbass."_

"_I wish I could leave flowers." _

"_That's probably 'cause she left you."_

"_dumb motherfuckers check uchiha not some dead chick"_

"_no one's seen him for a month"_

"_guess we're all shit out luck then, aren't we?"_

Sakura's eyes narrow, and she begins to quiver in rage. Those sick fucks, those bastards, mother_fucking_ bastards, with their spray cans, oh god, their spray cans on her memory, tarnishing someone who was good, purely good in Sakura's wavering mind. She would tear them apart if she could. Rip them limb from limb, smear their brains across their perfectly manicured lawns. Another pill. She is feeling a bit dizzy, and she wrings her hands together. How many has it been today? Four? It's only nine in the morning, but the more she takes, the more she loses, and the more she is released. She is hopeless, really. A tree struck by lightening too many times is a lost cause. Nobody cares to fix it; all that's left to do is cut it down.

The hills of Naruto's dreamscape are gentler than any hand that has ever touched him. The grass tickles his bare feet. His clothes are clean, and his chin is smooth. This is so rare. A moment of stability. He hasn't been able to sleep in for so many months, and he wishes he could thank Shikamaru for the place to stay, but his face is glued to his pillow and his feet are worlds away. A swallow darts past Naruto's cheek. He smiles, closing his eyes and simply breathing in the warm summer air. In a few minutes, he will return to reality. It is winter.

They had found Sasuke in a field a few miles out of town. He was curled up in a nest of tall grass, babbling to himself. Kakashi had pulled him up from his deathbed, and the boy had latched onto him, curling his long, pale fingers around Kakashi 's elbow, and rambling to the older man incessantly. All stories of **him**, tales of **her**. He carried Sasuke past Sasuke's trashy car and loaded him into his own. "She was never sixteen," Sasuke had muttered to himself, laying in the backseat of Kakashi's Volvo. "Foreveeer fifteeen, never sixteen." Kakashi's grip on the steering wheel only became tighter. His knuckles ached by the time he pulled into the hospital parking lot. Sasuke was transferred from a troubled conscience to the hospital conscience, and Kakashi had driven back to that field, back to that scene, only to tear through the contents of Sasuke's glove box, his backseat, his overflowing trunk. The drugs were expected, but who would have ever guessed the pictures? And the drugs, it hadn't only been the weed.. Kakashi would never have assumed that Sasuke had leaped so far. His hands shook as he leafed through the pictures, through the various plastic bags. He was simply tolerant, maybe a little bit ignorant. Not of events, but of their consequences.

Only one month into this sick caricature of a recovery and Sakura is still standing in the wrong reality. Her feet have sunken into the snow. Her fingers, numb, hang limply in her oversized pockets. A snowman blinks coal eyes from behind the fence.

In his dreams, Naruto has grown into the human condition. The desire for contact always overrides no matter the resolutions. His hand strokes a pale girl's cheek. She is faceless; his heart is pounding. Never has he felt such a connection. No girl, no boy. No one has ever let him this close. But soon the door will close, and he will wake up. The anxiety is invading. The faceless' hair is falling to the ground in clumps. Naruto draws his hand back. His blue eyes are wide. Her eyes are absent.

Does he want to be reunited with **her**? Another her is in the graveyard today, kneeling before a tombstone Sasuke has never visited. The children in the hospital, the ones who can still walk anyway, had been the ones who rolled the snowman's body into spheres, screwed his eyes in place. Will he ever see **him** again? Will he ever see the cold, hard truth? His vision is a lie. The doctors have been muttering it, and now he is seeing it in seeing her, praying before the grave of a girl whose death is only beginning to whisper the world in hushed precision.

Hinata is standing off to the side. Her hair is just as Sakura remembered it. Her face has held onto those soft edges. Sakura smiles gently. Hinata had tried to save her, but what was the point in that? She is forever marred, irreparably so. Today it is her turn, though. She will play the knight in shining armor. Her hand is outstretched.

Naruto sips a cup of orange juice. He swishes the juice around in his mouth and swallows only after he has counted out the entire alphabet. There are no shadows under his eyes, no physical reminders of the girl dissolving despite his fingertips. Shikamaru sits at the table. A cigarette protrudes from his thin lips. Through a filter of a lingering dream's white noise, Shikamaru asks Naruto if he would like to go for a ride. Remaining in his mind, Naruto nods blankly. Shikamaru grabs the keys.

Sasuke could if he wanted to. But is she waiting for him? There are too many questions for now. His head is starting to ache. He shuts his eyes, presses the button, and alarms a dozing off nurse. He will sleep on it.

Hinata's lips are moving, but no sounds emerge. The air is empty, devoid of all but this image, this reflection of a soul pleading, speaking but muted by circumstance. Sakura listens intently. She speaks this language. She nods along. Hinata's skin is tinged blue; her hands are still twitching. Sometimes she appears to gasp, and her chest quickly heaves in small, shallow breaths. "You are dead," Sakura says.

Hinata does not answer. She only smiles softly, and all reason is swept away.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **And with the introduction to part two, the story truly begins! I know that this is deviating quite a bit from the premise, but I honestly had no idea where the original plot was going. I spent hours typing up solutions to the problems, and I realized that none of them were really feasible, nor were they mildly interesting. I hope that story has been livened up, and that you will enjoy the new twists and turns I plan on including. Constructive criticism would be appreciated and as always, thanks for reading!

Letter To Miss

June 21st, 2011


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